


The King's Voice

by twowritehands



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deaf!Esca, Friends to Lovers, King!Esca, M/M, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:25:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca is suddenly the new King of England-- but he’s deaf and does not speak. Marcus is the expert in all things Signing and Hearing Impaired who is hired to act as the interpreter between the King and his people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King's Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: hearing impairment, panic attack, and mention of minor-character suicide  
> Disclaimer: We’re just having fun. We were briefly obsessed with sign language in our preteens, but never really learned more than the alphabet and a few phrases. We’re just writing based on what movies and youtube have taught us, so if there is anything that is just so so wrong and needs to be addressed, we’d be happy to learn something.

Esca has read the piece of paper in his hands at least a hundred times since it was written.

It is a letter from his late brother. Or _the note_ , as they say. Albert was never cut out for the life of a prince... Esca remembers him as the perfect definition of rebellious. Dark amusement and bitterness on the outside edges, maybe, but never anything like the kind of sadness that would push a man to do what Albert did. His untimely death had been the worst shock since Diana. His funeral had been a nightmare, and that, Esca’s supposes, is why Father’s today had seemed so low key and uneventful. Everyone had known the old king would die, they’d had a chance to prepare for it.

Still, Esca had been hoping against hope that it would still somehow never happen.

As unfit for the throne as Albert had deemed himself….Esca is worse. What could Albert have been thinking? But it is all here in the letter. Long winded excuses and idealistic dreams and a pep-talk for the boy he dumped his responsibilities on. Esca reads it now for the first time as the king his brother had left him to be, and then he puts it back in its drawer.

The lights in the room blink, signaling company. Esca rings a bell to grant entrance. The door opens and his mother steps in, elegant as always. Her curtsey is still too new for Esca, as is the new and far too formal address, [Your majesty] she signs with a proud but nervous smile [it is time.]

|           |           |           |

Catching his reflection in a mirror, Marcus adjusts his tie, feeling nervous. He cranes to catch his reflection in the next bit of glass and pushes down on his hair. The redhead showing him his way through the palace smiles back at him, “Experts aren’t supposed to be nervous, Mr. Aquila.”

Embarrassed, Marcus admits, “I teach children. I’m not used to the idea of having adults as my students.”

She comes to a stop at a door and turns to face him, “You’ve taught adults before, though, surely. What about the parents of all those children?”

“Of course, but it’s not the same thing as this!” Marcus cries, and he’s signing as he speaks, a habit impossible to break when he’s excited, “this is standing in front of a room full of people who are twice my age and much smarter than me, teaching them their ABCs!”

Her smile is kind and she adjusts his tie as if she knows him well enough to just reach over and touch his throat. Marcus does not mind; she’s pretty. Red curls, grey eyes, a heart shaped face.

“The positive side is, they’re eager students and you will, by the end of today, have the credential of having taught the entire English government something useful.”

Marcus snorts, touches the tips of his fingers to his chin and moves them outward, “Thanks.”

She jumps her eyebrows, “Watch out for the prime minister. He thinks he already knows how to sign, and he can be mean.”

Marcus nods, gives her a thumbs up, and she leads him into the room, speaking loudly over the hubbub of a chattering crowd, silencing them and introducing Marcus, the man there to give them a run down on the basics of BSL, British Sign Language.

“Hello,” Marcus says to them all, so many serious faces staring down at him from all around the room. He is trying not to think on it too much, that he is standing where politicians stand as they make important things happen. “Obviously, in one lesson I can’t teach you enough to keep up with the king, but I can teach you enough that you can at least get a start on someday becoming fluent in BSL.”

“You’re American!” someone cries, half humored and half outraged, “Are we to believe there isn’t a single learned Englishman willing to teach us?”

“I am an Englishman, sir,” Marcus speak-signs to him. “I’ve had my citizenship for over ten years now. However, if my accent is going to be a bother to you, I could cut it out altogether.” He stops speaking and continues signing, [--and that was rude of you, so now I want to teach you the sign for _I’m a moron_ and let you believe it means of _God Save the King_. At least then King Esca would be entertained by your stupidity.]

Marcus’ silent hand signals has prompted chuckles through the crowd but only because his audience is amused by the antics that have left the rude man lost in translation with his foot in his mouth. Marcus can tell by all the faces around him that they do not have any clue what he is signing. It would be on their faces if they did.

Remembering that the prime minister does know some of the language, Marcus finds him in the front row but, thankfully, the man’s bewildered expression proves that rapid hands have left him as clueless as the others.

Relieved that he has gotten away with his silent vent, Marcus gives it up and resumes speak-signing, “Back to the point of this gathering. I’m here to teach you BSL not necessarily because you must sign to the king. I’m sure you all know that His Majesty is an excellent lip reader, as is common of people who’ve been hearing-impaired since birth. So for him to understand you, all you need to do is look right at him as you speak. But, as is also common in these cases, His Majesty does not speak therefore if you want to understand him, you need me. So let’s start at the basics, the ABCs and 123s.”

|           |           |           |

Esca pops a sugar cube into his mouth and crunches on it as he relaxes into the cushions as much as he can while not sitting in too much of an undignified manner. His mother puts down her tea cup and speak-signs,

“What about your first address to the people as their king?”

[What about it?]

“You’ll speak-sign, surely?”

[Of course not. I’ll have an interpreter, as always.]

“Esca, you have a voice and it’s a beautiful voice. You should use it and let your people hear you!”

[I won’t speak-sign, Mother. I’ll use an interpreter, and that’s the end of it.]

“But an _interpreter_ in a _king’s_ speech to his _own_ people? It’s unheard of! There is a--”

Esca looks down at the cubes of sugar in his palm, not interested in the rest of her traditionalist rant. She moves from her chair to join him on his couch, holds his chin and turns his face toward her, speaks, “And who exactly will this interpreter be, hmm?”

Putting on his little boy puppy eyes, Esca playfully signs, [Would _you_ care to do it, mummy?]

“You had better be joking, Charles Esca Alexander.” Her eyes flash, her nostrils pulse and Esca is suddenly tired. Dammit. She’s pissed; he _knew_ he shouldn’t have gone silly with the answer. He tosses the handful of cubes toward his cup and only two go in, the rest scatter among the tea set, soundless ringing of china.

His mother is continuing, Signing hard in her resolve so he knows her voice must be loud, “ _A king_ does not have his _mother_ address his people for him!”

[It’s not _for me_! I didn’t ask you to do it _for me_. I’m going to be there doing it myself, addressing them in Sign! You’ll only be saying what I’m Signing!]

“No king in the _history of the monarchy_ has ever needed an interpreter to speak to his own subjects! Interpreters are for foreign diplomats, not _kings_!”

[Interpreters are for overcoming language barriers, Mother, and like it or not, there is a language barrier between myself and most of my people. It’s not my fault the whole country didn’t go out and learn sign the day they heard England had a deaf heir to the throne.]

“Albert--“ she cuts off partway through the name-sign, hands dropping to her lap and lips pursing together. She does not have to finish; Esca knows what she was going to say. _Albert barely gave any of us time to prepare for this._

When his mother continues, she is calmer and that sharp look is back in her eye that tells Esca she is on the high ground, or she at least thinks she is, “So that’s it, then? You’re going to blame it on the people? They did not learn to sign when they should have so they do not get to understand their king?”

[They _will_ understand me; they’ll have an interpreter helping them to understand!]

“Why should there be someone helping them when all you have to do is speak as you sign?”

[Mother, I am going to have an interpreter. I have put much thought into this. A king’s voice should be strong and authoritative, clear and familiar... my voice is none of those things.]

Her fingers curl gently around his chin once more, and he is made to look his mother in the eye again, and she doesn’t sign, “It could be all of those things, with practice.”

Esca wenches his face from her grip, [I’m _not_ speak-signing. I wish you would give it up.]

Her chin goes in the air. She stands and charges from the room. Esca sighs wearily, because he knows it means she hasn’t given up. She’s going to take her argument to someone else, anyone else, _everyone else_ , until she gets her way.

|           |           |           |

Marcus has remembered why he loves teaching Sign by the time the crash course for parliament comes to an end. Everyone is shaking his hand and thanking him and doing the Signs they just learned, smiling happily. The redhead has returned and she looks around at politicians who are lingering and signing the ABCs and greetings to one another, “That didn’t go so horribly wrong did it?”

“No, it didn’t. But I’m still glad it’s over. I prefer smaller audiences.”

“Well, I’m afraid you can’t go yet. The king wants to see you.”

“Oh,” Marcus straightens in surprise. The king. Shit.

Now he starts really messing with his tie as he falls into step with his guide through the palace. He has worn his best suit for this visit to the palace because he is not an imbecile, but he had not really expected to be brought to the _king_. Surely the man has better things to do?

The redhead is speaking as she walks, “You’ll address him as Your Majesty to start and then Sir every time after that--“

“I know,” Marcus cuts in, “I’ve already met him.”

“You have?” she raises an eyebrow in interest.

“On more than one occasion, actually,” Marcus hopes he does not sound like he is bragging. “He’s done some amazing things for the deaf community. I attend every charitable function he has in the works, and I bring my students on field trips to the events he’s appearing at, if I can. I want him to meet all them; they love him so much.”

Fuck, that was gushing. That was definitely _gushing_ like a school girl. Marcus clears his throat and forces himself not to reach up and comb his hair flat. Even if it is Prince Esca--no, no. King Esca now. Shit.

Fuck, fuck. Shit.

Would Esca even remember him? No, he would probably need context. He meets all kinds of people all the time. And Marcus had always had a paper nametag stuck to his lapel for those kinds of things, anyway.

“Oh, well, that explains it, then,” the redhead is saying.

“Explains what?”

“He texted _bring Marcus to me before he leaves_. I thought it was weird that he used your first name.”

“Ah,” Marcus feels heat in his cheeks and wonders why his stomach should flip around just because a prince--no, no, _a king_ \--should remember him, by his first name of all things. Marcus does his absolute best to put a lid on it, to rein it in and get a grip. It’s not like he’s a little girl about to meet her Disney prince charming or whatever.

But he kinda is.

He can’t help the smile as he remembers Esca (who was a prince, then, and stunning in his tuxedo) smiling out over a crowd of little upturned faces, kids in their best Sunday clothes with big white nametag stickers on their chests, and bending down to a little girl to sign, [Hello, what a pretty face.]

She curtsied and then signed, [You’re pretty, too.]

The prince had beamed at her and looked playfully offended, [I hope I’m more handsome than pretty. Aren’t I handsome?] She nodded, giggling and the prince continued, [Tough and strong and tall, too?]

She nodded more, giggling louder and Marcus had almost giggled himself because the prince had such an expressive face given that he was not moving his lips at all. And yes, he was handsome. Is.

Always has been.

As Marcus is lost in this reverie, his guide leads him all the way across the palace and into a room with couches, tea and windows overlooking the garden. Turning from one of the windows, that same expressive and familiar face under bronze hair illuminates and the king springs forward, Signing,

[Marcus! Good to see you!]

Marcus can only be thankful that the room is large, because he has time to get his bow in before the king has him by the hand and is shaking it. Had Esca gotten to him before he could bow, should he have still bowed after shaking his hand? Marcus doesn’t have a single fucking clue.  Thus, he’s saved by the architecture.

The king is Signing with an earnest expression, [How are you?]

“I’m well, Your Majesty, it’s good to see you, too,” Marcus says without signing, then, adding his hands, “My condolences to you in this sad time; two funerals so close together….”

Esca nods solemnly, lips twitching with the kind of deep pain that only the bereaved can understand, but he is still shaking Marcus’s hand and moves on from the painful subject by turning to his mother and releasing him to Sign to her, [Mother, this is Marcus Aquila. He’s the teacher and interpreter I was telling you about.]

The dowager queen (an aged but refined and intimidating woman) looks Marcus up and down with a polite, but too small, smile and says to her son without signing, “Him? It can’t be him, he’s American.”

Marcus barely represses a sarcastic reflex reply, and Esca whirls to look him up and down, eyebrows together and jaw slackened in surprise as he signs, [Is this true?]

Feeling sheepish but also amused, Marcus speak-signs, “I do have the accent, sir, but this is home and has been for quite a while.”

The king laughs outright, a good strong bark of a laugh and then Signs to his mother, [In my defense, Marcus Signs with all the English spellings and phrasing. Naturally, I had no idea of his wicked origins. I’m the innocent in all of this.]

Marcus laughs, bows his head, “I would never intentionally deceive a prince of England. It just never occurred to me to let you in on the huge secret of my accent.”

Esca’s smile is so great, so big, it changes his face entirely and Marcus thinks it makes his ears stick out more. Not that that is a bad thing. Marcus rather likes Esca’s ears.

The king Signs, [I suppose I won’t have you hanged for this, but you should tell me now if you have _any_ connections to the Scots.]

Marcus laughs loudly before stifling it and shakes his head, “No, I can’t say I have.”

[Good. Sit, please. Tea?]

“Yes, thank you. I’ll help myself.” Marcus takes the seat offered him and pours himself a cup because it just feels weird to make the king or the king’s mother do it for him. He’s amused to find sugar cubes scattered around the table. It reminds him of children playing at tea. Unexpected in Buckingham Palace. The queen is still eying him suspiciously and Marcus wishes he had gone for the other tie. This one feels too man-on-a-pot-noodles-every-night budget.

“Do you know why my son has asked you to join us?” she asks him without Signing.

Marcus had thought it was simply to catch up, but her icy attitude has Marcus forgetting about his tea halfway through dropping his sugar into it, “No. Is there a particular reason?”

“Of course there is a particular reason,” she responds, making Marcus feel stupid for asking. “King’s _do_ have more important things to do all day than chit chat with social workers, I hope you know.”

Esca throws a hand down hard on the cushion between himself and his mother, gives her a fierce look and Signs an apology Marcus’s way adding to it, [She is only still angry at me because we do not see eye-to-eye on this matter.]

“What matter, sir?”

[The King of England needs a voice] Esca signs, [Signing my speeches to the masses without an interpreter would only result in the end of the monarchy.]

Marcus nods in agreement, chuckling at the idea of crowds of people staring up at a Signing man with no clue what he’s saying. “Agreed,” to the older woman he says, “but surely, Your Majesty, this isn’t what the two of you disagree on?”

She fixes a hard stare on Marcus and says, “A king should not require help speaking to his own people.”

The silence in the room following her statement is heavy, and Marcus’s stomach twists. He is used to silence, but he is not used to mothers who say their deaf sons should be able to do things they cannot do.

“I know how that sounds,” she says into the silence, looking a tad regretful, “I love my son, and I understand him. But he is more than my son, now; he is a king. _Their_ king and _they_ don’t sign, most of them. So what now? He’s to gain a shadow that goes around speaking every word he Signs when he’s perfectly capable of doing that himself?”

Understanding releases the knot in Marcus’ stomach, and he looks at Esca, “So this is about speak-signing?”

Esca nods, eyes flashing, [I won’t do it. I’ve told her again and again. A deaf man can be a king, but he can’t sound like one. If I speak-sign, the public will only hear garbled vowels and mispronounced words. They’ll hear a retard.]

“You are _not--_ “ Esca’s mother begins with a gasp and Marcus, too, begins to say something similar, but Esca cuts in by throwing up his hands and signing to his mother,

[The fact is a king of England needs a certain kind of voice that I don’t have, so I intend to find someone who does.]

Esca turns to Marcus, eyebrows raised and mouth smirking, [How soon can you start?]

|           |           |           |

Everyone is shouting. Esca cannot hear it, but he can tell. Words spoken with lifted shoulders, widened mouths, expanded chests, and harsh hand movements. The prime minister has given up attempting his rudimentary Signing as he speaks, a pity because Liathan is just starting to get the hang of it, but it will take longer for him if he is going to be so wishy-washy about when he is going to use it.

Marcus is sitting right where he had been when Esca had offered him the job. He has not moved or said more than a comment here or there as the arguing started, and he has not even spoken since Esca’s advisors, Prime Minister Liathan, and Liathan’s advisors were all called in to deal with this.

Apparently accents are a much bigger deal than Esca ever cared to give them credit for.

Everyone agrees with Esca that giving the king a commanding, clear voice would be the wisest way to uphold the public image of the crown, but what they will not agree with him on his picking an American to be the voice of England.

[He’s a British citizen!] Esca signs, [so what does an accent matter?]

“It matters, sir, trust me,” Liathan signed clumsily.

[Do a poll about it; I want to hear that from my people, first.]

“Sir, with all due respect…” that’s one of the advisors, not signing but trusting Esca’s lip reading, “your entire argument for a hired voice is to maintain the proper image of the English crown. Choosing a voice with an _American_ accent isn’t going to do that!”

“Actually,” one of the advisors cuts in, “his entire argument is to uphold the dignity of a king’s persona; a king’s voice should inspire trust in his people, the trust that he’s intelligent and wise. To be frank, the voice of a deaf boy doesn’t inspire such. That’s the argument, Liathan, what in that means the new voice _has_ to sound British?”

“Forgive me,” That’s Liathan cutting in and forgetting to sign, “but I think the voice of the king should sound familiar to his people!”

[--sound, sound, sound!] Esca cuts in though the others keep speaking their points as if talking over a prattling child. Esca, though, is too mad to stop, [That’s all you are arguing about right now-- “ _sound_ , and you know what? I don’t give a fuck about sound! It means nothing to me!”

Esca senses the moment Marcus jumps in to interpret his ferocious signing for him because everyone shuts up and looks at the teacher in surprise, and then they look at Esca when they see that it is the king the American is speaking for. Marcus’s eyes are locked on Esca as he Signs,

[“Dr. Aquila is one of the best interpreters in the world,”] Marcus interprets, [“and so long as he doesn’t slur his words together or have a high squeaky voice, it doesn’t matter to me what accent he has because I can’t hear it.  You think the king of England should have a British accent? Well, I’ve got news for you, I am the king of England, and I _don’t_ have a British accent!]

[“There, what now? Am I unfit to rule this country? Am I going to be forced to abdicate because I don’t _sound_ right to the people? Are you saying my country will insist that a deaf man can’t be their king? If that’s the case, then give me the goddamned pen, and I’ll sign the abdication right now!”]

When he is finished, no one moves. Hardly anyone will dare to meet his eye.

For the very first time in his life without opening his mouth, Esca has yelled and has been heard. Looking around the room, the young king sees the bewildered expressions that he had always hoped to see after laying into a group of people who have pissed him off, but that he has rarely ever accomplished; Esca used to have to resort to making an actual blurry sound vibrate out of his throat in order to achieve this result, because this only happens with _volume_.

The whole room is quiet. Esca cannot hear it, but he can tell that it is. Everyone stands still, their mouths do not move and hand-gestures have stopped. Evidently Marcus had given him a loud, hard, clear voice commanding the entire room with venom and emphasis.

Everyone casts looks over at Marcus, who looks slightly embarrassed but resolved as he moves to stand by Esca. He explains to them, “You were ignoring the king. I felt it was necessary to make him heard.”

With a rush of gratitude, Esca thanks him, and Marcus accepts it with a humble bow of his head and a motion for Esca to continue, which he does, feeling stronger than ever about his decision to have Marcus as his voice,

[That settles it. This man is my interpreter. End of discussion. If the people have a problem with it, we’ll sort them out. But I have faith that they won’t mind.]

|           |           |           |

It’s all happening too fast for Marcus. He has not even been properly asked to take the job. Marcus would kind of like to be asked. Sure, the king has power, but is he allowed to just call dibs on Marcus like this?

Not that Marcus minds being the one the king wants to call dibs on… but, still, it’s the principle of the thing. It’s a big deal being the king’s _voice_ , speaking in front of a nation of people… that’s about a bajillion times bigger than a room filled with parliament.

It makes Marcus nervous, the thought of his voice going out on radio and TV, his voice amplified through a microphone echoing over a courtyard… His voice filling up that parliament chamber every day…going down in history.

Panic has Marcus hoping the polls come back negative so that he can get out of this with a shrug and a humble, “Too bad, but you have a duty to the wishes of your people.”

But of course Marcus is not that lucky. Esca had seemed to be stubbornly holding on to sheer blind faith in his people, but apparently not. The poll results say that so long as the interpreter does not have an annoying or grating voice, the people do not care what he sounds like.

Esca walks around with an I Told You So smirk on that is _so cute_ Marcus thinks he should decline this job offer just because it _cannot_ be a good idea to shadow a man when you are crushing this hard on him, can it?

But of course Marcus does not decline the job because it is just a crush—it does not mean he’s going to have a whirlwind secret love affair with a _king_ , for God’s sake.

At most Marcus will pine, and at least he will get to form an actual friendship with one of the most influential people in the world. Mostly, Marcus thinks he is used to pinning; so bring it on.

But it seems impossible, the idea of giving up teaching, his apartment and _moving into the palace_. Shadowing a king like some kind of body guard. Speaking to people from all over the world. Going to all those rich parties and things. No more pot noodles.

It would be an even bigger change than leaving America to go to school here in England had been. At least back then Marcus had had nothing left to leave behind and he had been at that age when one is expected to leave home and try new things. This time, though, he has a comfortable, happy existence and friends and students and neighbors and a whole _life_ to leave behind.

This is a once in a lifetime opportunity and job security and a huge salary and Esca every day all rolled into one, so Marcus would be an _idiot_ to refuse… but what about mothers who just learned their baby cannot hear them? What about kids who just lost their hearing and can no longer talk to their family? How can he leave them?

Within just a few hours of being offered the position, Marcus goes back and forth between the two sides of it so many times his head spins, and he feels like it’s hopeless. After being coerced by the king into taking a guest room in the palace for the night, he calls some friends who call him an idiot for questioning it and demand that he accept. He does not get any sleep and wakes up the next morning feeling even more confused.

Trying to explain his position to Esca is the conversation which seals the deal. Marcus finally manages to explain that he is torn between his two options and the handsome king levels those grey eyes on him and Signs, [Your options are that you can live in a palace and walk beside a king for the rest of your life, or you can stay in a city flat and _teach_.]

“But teaching makes _more_ of a difference in _more_ lives than following you around all day!” Marcus snaps, too frustrated to be respectful. Maybe his is not a glorious life, but it has been enjoyable enough for him so far.

Put in his place, Esca frowns with a reluctant nod of agreement, but then signs,

[But if you stay with me, you make a difference in _my_ life.]

Esca is wearing a smile that Marcus does not want to label as _bashful_ because he is not whimsical enough to think that kings have feelings for average people like him, but all other words to describe that smile fail him and so bashful it is. The sight of it puts a flutter at the bottom of Marcus’s ribcage so intense he has to look away.

He remembers that first time they met, at the charity fund raiser when Esca and the little girl had bantered about how pretty he was. Marcus had finally gotten the nerve to approach him and speak-sign, “Excuse me, Your Highness, can I just tell you how much I admire the work you do for the community? It’s an honor that you have joined us today.”

He can still remember the way Esca’s expression had lit up when he realized that Marcus Signed fluently, and the king had bowed his head a little, then his gaze had fallen on his mouth, and he Signed, [You speak-sign, have you been hearing impaired your whole life?]

“I’m not hearing impaired, Your Highness. I am a teacher.”

[Only say Your Highness once. After that, I’m just sir. What can I call you?]

Marcus had spelled out his name and then taught the prince the shorter name sign. It combines the letter M and the sign for “tall” and Esca had smiled and repeated it, adding with a significant look _up_ at him,

[How fitting for you. If I ever have a choice between hearing or becoming tall, I will pick becoming tall in a heartbeat.]

“That’s a wise choice, sir. Trust me, hearing is vastly over-rated.”

[And being tall isn’t?]

Marcus had gotten the nerve to look sly as he Signed, “Oh, being tall has even more perks than we let on.”

That was the first time Marcus had heard Esca’s laugh, a sound which had washed over him and made him feel good for having provoked it.

After that, Marcus had made a point of attending every single deaf-related event that the prince was going to be at, even if it meant taking off work and traveling across the country. (He told himself and others he wanted to be more active in the charities and foundations. Which he did. Of course he did. But it was secretly more than that. It was a chance.)

Esca actually noticed Marcus at every event and spoke to him if he could, and thus as much of a friendship emerged as was possible between a member of the royal family and an under-paid teacher who only saw each other about three times a year…

[Marcus?] Esca nudges him out of the reverie, and he looks worried, [Please, I’m prepared to beg you to stay.]

“Why me?” Marcus asks directly. Esca looks away and back, shrugging with a set jaw. Then he Signs,

[Because you hear me. Yesterday, when you made everyone listen… no one else has ever shouted _for_ me before. Around here when someone speaks for me my voice is lost in translation. But you took yourself out of it and said what I was Signing the way I was Signing it. I think that was the first time they heard me as their king. So if anyone is going to let the kingdom really hear me, it’s you.]

Oh, dammit. Marcus just did not prepare himself this morning to resist this face, so sincere and pleading. He hangs his head, lifts his hand and Signs, “Okay.”

Esca grabs that hand to squeeze it in celebration and with his fingers mashed awkwardly in Esca’s fist Marcus can’t bring himself to realize how bad of an idea this is yet, because Esca is laughing out loud again and it’s such a _great laugh_.

|           |           |           |

 _You should be king, Esca,_ Albert had written, _it’s about time there was one that understands the world differently than most people. A king like that, he could do so many great things._

Esca does not even try to sleep that night. He stays up, with the lights on, the bed quilts untouched, thinking and planning…. and daydreaming. The daydreams are unintentional and come around whenever his thoughts lead him back to Marcus Aquila, the Signer with the inexpensive but well-kept clothes and kind smile.

Ever since that first conversation at a benefit a year or two ago wherein Marcus dared to _wink_ when he made a joke about the secret perks to being tall … Esca has not forgotten him. Marcus had had a stain on his cuff the whole time, but either never noticed it or did not care. And Marcus had danced with every kid he brought with him, letting them stand on his feet if they were small enough.

After it became routine for Esca to spot Marcus in the crowds at all the charities that the common man could afford, Esca had allowed himself to start looking forward to seeing him. It was always a laugh if he was there. A disappointment if he wasn’t.

Esca had liked having a friend who knew Sign not because the prince needed him to know Sign, but because he had learned it in his own life, completely separate of anything to do with Esca. In that way, with Marcus, Esca had Signing in common with someone for the first time in his life.

And he had noticed right away that Marcus had _great_ hands. Wide palms, long nimble fingers, clean nails and no wedding ring. He was not clumsy with his Sign, and even when it was clear to him that Esca could lip read well enough to get by without it, Marcus never stopped Signing, claimed it was a habit and did not even make an attempt to break it.

It became evident why when, during one of the last times he had spoken to Marcus as a prince, the teacher had explained that his mother had been deaf, so he learned Sign right alongside speaking. He always knew he wanted to teach others how to Sign, and he’s never had any other job but doing just that.

Now he’s an interpreter for the King of England.

Esca grins when he thinks of it, having Marcus following him around, the chance now to finally get to know the tall, gorgeous man. He closes his eyes, leaning back in his desk chair and allowing himself to dwell on the blush and the nervous smile on Marcus’ face when Esca had asked him to stay and make a difference in his life.

Oh, the difference he could make.

It is not just giving him a voice (though that’s a huge part of it.) For the first time Esca feels as capable of being a king as Albert had insisted he was, because with Marcus as his voice, he can be every bit as much of a king as Father was, and all the kings before him.

And if Marcus will stay and… if they could grow _close…_ if Marcus could _love_ him… then he could do anything.

|           |           |           |

[Is everything alright, Marcus?] Esca signals him from across the room.

Marcus Signs back without speaking, because they are not alone in the room and he does not feel like broadcasting this to the tech guys around them, [Yeah I’ve just never spoken to crowds as big as this.]

[It’s not a crowd, it’s a camera. It’s one guy, and his name is Bob. Say hello to Marcus, Bob.]

Having caught the king motioning to him and getting the gist of the sign-command, the camera guy named Bob smirks and raises a hand to Marcus in greeting which Marcus silently returns as someone positions the microphone in front of him.

[But the whole country is watching this!] Marcus Signs to Esca, [It’s not just Bob.]

[You’ll do well, Marcus. They assure me you sound like you look.]

[How’s that?]

[Kingly.]

Marcus blushes and looks at the microphone that’s staring at him from within his personal space. [At least they can’t see me this time.]

It’s a live television broadcast and Marcus will only be narrating the sign language, but that’s not always going to be the case. Soon enough he’ll be doing this in front of a lot of people—sure, set off to the side of the podium, but still on the stage. Esca has a teleprompter feeding him the speech, but he has refused to let Marcus have one making the point that _he_ is Marcus’s teleprompter.

Marcus knows that Esca is going to deviate from the practiced speech just as much as he can get away with, to test whether or not Marcus will follow him or the rules. Marcus is determined to follow Esca; he’s here to be Esca’s voice, after all, not some kind of referee.

He keeps his eyes locked on Esca as Bob counts them down to Live. Esca smiles at the camera and begins Signing and Marcus begins speaking as much _unlike_ an idiot as he can muster while still putting the emotions of Esca’s face into the words.

They aren’t even half way through it before Marcus is in a Zen place and keeping up with Esca’s swift hands with ease, the tones of his voice paralleling Esca’s expressions and managing to sound pretty good, or at least not completely stupid, anyway.

He’s still relieved when it’s over, though.

Bob gives them both a thumbs-up and Marcus pushes away the microphone, dropping back in the armchair, “Is it too late to quit?”

[Yes. Every king in history has had only one voice, and I will not be any different. I will not have my people addressed by a King with an inconsistent cast of voices. And now they’ve heard yours so we’re stuck with you.]

“Lucky you,” Marcus Signs sarcastically, but he is smiling, and Esca is smiling back.

|           |           |           |

“May I have a word?” the king’s mother asks with her hands clasped in front of herself. Marcus tenses a bit like a deer caught in the sight of its predator, but then he smiles kindly. “Yes, of course.”

Changing directions, Marcus shortens his stride to walk with the lady.

“I regret that we have not had time to speak more since my son hired you.”

“It has been a very busy time,” Marcus says feeling like his tongue is thick as he focuses on not Signing. Usually, he Signs to everyone without apology, but it feels ridiculous to do it in front of her when no one here needs it.

“I have been wandering what your feelings are on speak-signing. As a children’s teacher, I imagine that is your specialty.”

Marcus nods. “I generally do focus on teaching the children to use their voice as they pick up lip-reading and Sign. It helps to make their lives easier, particularly their parents’.”

The woman is nodding, tight lipped. “Then we agree, speak-signing is the traditional way to overcome the language barrier. Tell me, your mother was deaf was she not? Surely she spoke to you.”

“Yes,” Marcus says slowly, unnerved that this practical stranger knows such a personal detail. Clearly PIs are no expense to the royal family. She looks completely unashamed of mentioning a background check understood to be as thorough as it was discreet. Slightly irked, Marcus rolls his lips together and wonders if she knows about his father, too.

“My son is now the father of his people,” she says gravely. “Do you not believe it is a parent’s duty to speak, to teach, and lead? King Esca is shy of using his voice, the teachers we hired for him when he was small--God love them, they tried. But he is a stubborn soul. Always has been.”

Marcus is nodding along, smiling, and remembering plenty of his own stubborn students.

“My point, Mr. Aquila, is to request that you work with the king on this matter.”

“I would love to,” Marcus assures. “But to what end? He is not ready to make public announcement yet, and by the time he will be, the people will have heard a lot more of me—he isn’t going to want to change his voice.”

“Then do it for a mother,” she says briskly, “One who simply yearns to hear her son’s voice again. You know, I have heard it only _twice_ in his life...” she looks into the middle distance wistfully, a small melancholy smile on her face. “It is such a wonderful sound...”

“Like his laugh,” Marcus volunteers without thought. He clamps his teeth together and smiles, and to his luck, the woman accepts the comment as an intuitive teacher’s observation, and not what it was. A full-out fanboy sigh.

Marcus pauses their casual stride down the hall, and puts a comforting hand on her arm. “If His Majesty is willing and has the time, I will be happy to work with him on it.”

||||||

The first problem with being a king, Esca thinks, is that he is the last one to know about things. Everyone scuttles around him, working frantically behind the scenes to have everything neat and orderly and patched up and ready for his stamp of approval.

There is no grunt work as king.

He is not expected to get in any place and work with his hands. The most he is expected to do is make the final decisions. They bring him all the acceptable options, and he picks his favorite.

“Your Majesty, Mr. Aquila is here to see you.”

[Is he?] Esca asks, alarmed. They have no engagement to speak to an audience today; Esca had not expected to see or hear from the interpreter until tomorrow. [Do I have time to see him? What am I due for next?]

“You are free until dinner, sir.”

[Am I really?]

“The time was kept open by your mother, and it was her who has asked Mr. Aquila here in hopes that you will be willing to have a speech lesson.”

[Oh for Christ’s sake!]

“Shall I tell him now is a bad time, sir?”

Esca shakes his head quickly. [Bring him in, thank you.]

She curtseys and leaves the room. Esca stands from his desk and paces to the window, tugging at his sleeves. When he glances back a few moments later, he sees that Marcus is standing just inside the door, waiting for his entrance to be acknowledged. Once spotted, he bows and comes forward.

“Your Majesty, how are you today?”

[Not prepared for a speech lesson,] he signs resolutely. [I don’t know what my mother said to you, but it is really a waste of time to worry about any of that, don’t you think so? Why do I need to speak when I have you?]

Marcus smiles, and his lips move along with the words his hands shape, “I understand. But...well, if you don’t wish to speak, then why am I here? Surely you have someone more important to have tea with, perhaps to discuss another attempt at world domination?”

Esca allows himself a light laugh [I do, from time to time, and believe me you will be present for those occasions. Can’t bring a war on just because a foreign dignitary gets his sign language switched up and thinks I called him a twat.]

A gentle warmth spreads through Esca at the sight of Marcus’ laugh. Over their handful of encounters through the years, he has learned to recognize that when Marcus’ face expands—eyes wide, mouth open, tongue pulsing with the lost sound—he means it, and if he is only laughing because Esca is, then it is a jump of his shoulders, a crooked grin, and, sometimes, the tip of his tongue snags between his teeth. In the way of many kings, Esca has come to accept both as honest amusement. The one he gets now is the freer one, bigger but short lived.

The interpreter returns to point, stating “Speak signing would help clear confusion in such tenuous situations, don’t you think?”

[If I didn’t have you, yes. But that’s what you’re here for.]

Marcus shrugs, on the losing side and aware of it.

[Still,] Esca Signs, [I called you in because I thought we might as well see each other. Our schedules have been cleared for this appointment, after all. But instead of children’s homework, let’s take the time to get to know each other better. It might make interpreting my words in front of the nation easier for you, if you are better acquainted with my Signing tendencies.]

“I did notice you get a little lazy on the wide signs, sir. If I’m not careful, I might misinterpret and then someone really will be a twat.”

[Oh?] Esca feigns offence. [I would think someone with your build should use my shortcuts, or you might knock someone flat with one of those flailing tree trunk arms!]

They share a laugh; this is one where Marcus has his tongue between his teeth, and laughs with his body instead.

“Bonding time,” Marcus ponders it, green eyes falling on the tea kettle. He comes to life, “First thing’s first, how do you like your tea, sir?”

[You don’t have to be terribly formal with me, Marcus. At least not when we are alone. That will get rather dull after fifty years, won’t it? Let’s set the habit now of being formal only with an audience.]

He can see it land on the former-American. Fifty years as the shadow of a king. It is a daunting thought. Even Esca cannot imagine being an old king yet. He thinks it might not be so bad if Marcus remains a constant.

“If you insist, but I can’t promise I won’t slip occasionally, sir,” Marcus speak-signs slyly. Esca chuckles, and Marcus asks again, “Your tea?

[Sugar and sugar, thanks,] Esca signs happily. [You?]

“Milk,” is the answer Esca reads on Marcus’ lips, his hands busy with the cups. Once he notices, it is hard for Esca to look away from the surprising fullness of that bottom lip, the bow of his mouth. He snaps out of it when Marcus glances up, asking clearly since he can’t use his hands, “so read any good books lately?”

Esca chuckles and Signs, [Not really. But have you seen that sky today, wow!]

“Do you think it will rain later?” Grinning, Marcus is able to sign most of it now that the tea is poured, and his magnificent hands sweep Esca’s attention away from his mouth at last. Esca shakes his head as he sips and sets the cup back down, trying to get a grip.

[Weather jokes in England. Poor form, Marcus.]

“I thought it was funny. You know, I was born in a place where it almost never ever rains.”

[Indoors?]

Marcus’ nose wrinkles and his tea ripples under the breath of his snickering. “LA.”

[I have read quite a few good books in the last month, actually. One of them was by a mutual friend of ours.]

“Stephen? Yes! I’ve read it! I gave him notes on the first draft, actually.”

[Did he listen to you?]

“They were good notes.”

Esca’s fingers dip into the sugar cube bowl, and he starts stacking them on the clean table cloth, wondering in what sort of setting were these notes traded. In a café? In bed? Then corrects himself because Stephen is married, so of course it was a café, if in person at all. The king scoffs inwardly at his outlandish thoughts, fueled by an inappropriate jealousy.

“It was a good book,” Esca signs one handed, balancing sugar with the other, “I think it will help a lot of lost parents understand what they’re deaf child is going through.”

“And in a lot of ways help the parents know they aren’t alone in how they feel. So many of them just want to hear what their child is thinking...” Marcus looks pensive and then sheepish as he meets Esca’s eyes, “Forgive me if this is...well...why don’t you speak-sign? I’m not talking about to the nation, I get that. But... one on one. To your family?”

Esca draws in a deep breath. [There are too many and not enough ways to answer that question. It’s easier just to Sign.]

“I would be honored to help you. Well, more than that, I just want to. Whenever you want to, we can practice. And who knows? Maybe it will be just the thing you need to make your point in a meeting when things aren’t going your way. I shut my mouth and you open yours. Shock factor could turn the vote.”

[My mother has gotten to you.]

“She requested I see what I can do. She is no different than my students’ mothers.  I couldn’t say no.”

Esca rolls his eyes, but he feels himself mired in the middle of his mile wide stubborn streak, so he is not going to do this for his mother, but he no longer sees the harm in practicing with this very kind, passionate teacher. He sighs.  [You’ve done me in with the shock factor. I would not mind having that card up my sleeve.]

|||||||

Marcus leaves the king’s office to find Esca’s mother lurking at the foot of some stairs down the hall. He walks towards her, smiling with his eyebrows up to let her know that the mission was accomplished. She gives him a very small smile and then walks away.

But it turns out that Esca is far too busy for there to be any possible first lesson. Marcus at first does not question it when he is told this, but as two months go by, he begins to understand an excuse when he hears one.

He’s just about to do something about it when Esca’s frightening mother corners him and makes him feel two feet tall about having let it go on this long.

“Sir,” Marcus says to Esca one day when they are in a car headed to a function. “Your mother is pressuring me again.”

Esca snorts and Signs, [Next time she tries anything, tell her you’re not that kind of girl and give her a pop in the face.]

Marcus laughs and Signs without speaking, [You know what I’m talking about.]

Esca sighs, drops his head back on the head rest, [To speak is like walking in the dark with no knowledge of the room.]

[So learn the room.]

[I misspoke. It’s like shooting arrows at a target in the dark. I let the sound go and cannot see where it ends up, what it hits, what it misses. I don’t like doing things I lose control over.]

“You _have_ control of your voice, Esca. You can’t hear it, but you can feel it. That’s enough.”

There is a long stretch and then Esca smirks and Signs, [So what now, you start groping my throat and telling me how to hold my tongue in my mouth?]

“That’s how I teach babies about speak-sound; pardon me for saying so, but I think you grasp the concept.”

[So what’s on the lesson docket?]

Marcus shrugs, “Haven’t gauged where you are, yet. You have to say something to me before I know where to start.”

[Pretend I’ve never uttered a syllable.]

Irritated, Marcus speak-signs, “Then I would start with hard consonants and short words, the first things we learn in lip-reading. N-sound, O-sound. No, etc.”

“No,” Esca says into the small space of the car, a short but clear vibration that is rich with the same texture that the sound of his laugh is made of.

Marcus smiles, excited by it.

“Good,” Marcus speak-signs and makes a motion for the king to repeat him. To which Esca looks out the window, bored, as he repeats the word.

“Goohn.”

“No,” Marcus shakes his head and Signs, “You didn’t do the end right.”

Esca makes a scathing sound like he has a pebble in his boot.

“You missed the D-sound,” Marcus explains and with Esca’s attention, says as exaggeratedly as he can, “Duh, Duh, Duh.”

“Duh,” Esca repeats.

“Goo-DUH,” Marcus instructs.

“Goo _duh_.”

“Good!”

“Gooduh.”

Marcus laughs, having fun. But Esca will not look at him, stubbornly sulking out the window in a childish way most unbecoming of a king. Marcus drops the spontaneous lesson for now and pretends, later, that he does not see it when Esca mouths the word to himself in silent practice.

||||||||

Living in the palace ceases to feel like a holiday for Marcus as the months go on. The large, lavish and traditional rooms had at first been intimidating and then exciting, but now their glamour has faded and they feel more and more like a hotel. His private rooms, the way they seem to be cleaned for him the moment he steps out of them so that they are always pristine each time he opens his door, do not feel like _home_.

He misses the peeling paper of his bedroom walls, the wobbly table in his kitchen; the smell of his couch. He misses how cold it got this time of year with his shitty radiator, when he woke and had his breakfast before work, often hearing the children in the apartment next door wake up in a rowdy and giggling mood.

And work doesn’t feel like work these days. He no longer takes the tube across town, spends the day in a classroom of children and parents. His lunches used to be cheap sandwiches in the faculty room, chatting with colleagues as over-worked and poor but as generally enthusiastic as he. And then on weekends, his friends would good-naturedly force him to spruce up and go out with them in efforts to thwart dying alone. Not here. He feels so stifled here.

One mention of this to those in charge of things, and he is granted the weekend off.

…….

It is a whirlwind couple of days. Marcus meets up with his oldest friends, and tries to tell them all about his new lifestyle only for them to cut him off halfway through the night and demand that he enjoy himself while he is away from all the posh nonsense. He does manage to unwind and have fun as he drinks with buddies and helps them each score with someone young and hot and free to break all the rules. Marcus himself refrains from picking anyone up. It wouldn’t be like Joe Average could swing by and have lunch with him at the palace every day, so anything leading to a relationship is out, and one night stands just sound worse. The last thing the king’s interpreter needs to do is get caught fucking some guy who is insanely hot but surely on crack or married or just looking to fuck someone half-way famous to stir up some trouble.

On day two, Marcus is approached by someone who knows him from the news and for this very reason alone, Marcus refuses the advances. Social climbers have never been a real thing in Marcus’ life until this moment when he realizes he is the giant hurtle between Cinderella scrubbing floors and being the queen of England. These women seem to think that by becoming his girlfriend or best friend they can seduce Esca.

By the end of the weekend, Marcus has caught up with all his friends, shook all the cobwebs off, and turned down enough offers of casual anonymous sex to be regenerated and actually _missing_ life in the formal world of the palace. Good god, they’ve already managed to turn him into a robot.

Oh well.

He has an actual spring in his step and a big smile on his face when he shows up bright and early to work with Esca. But when he lays eyes on the king, Esca is scowling darkly and Signs hatefully, [Have fun?]

Unsure of the reason for his friend’s sour mood, Marcus returns carefully, “Yes, thank you. Did you have a good weekend, sir?”

[Lovely.]

They do not exchange another word between them until the business of the day is at long last concluded. Marcus works diligently interpreting all that Esca Signs to the hordes of minions that click and whirl around Esca like clogs on a finely tuned machine. Some of them, bless them, are picking up Sign themselves and will hardly need Marcus once they become fluent enough to follow the king’s rapid and impatient Sings. Others rely on Marcus fully and to these people, he notices, Esca seems less cool towards.

By the end of the day, Marcus knows why his friend has been so brusque with him. After dinner, when everyone who is at leave to do so is stepping in to say good evening to Esca, Marcus takes advantage of a moment of privacy to state,

“You are mad at me for disappearing over the weekend.”

[Perhaps] the king confesses.

“Why? Aren’t I allowed a vacation every once in a while?”

[Of course you are,] Esca signs reluctantly. Before Marcus can formulate a response, the head secretary steps in to say goodnight and the moment they are alone again, Esca continues, [It was just so sudden. I didn’t even know about it until you were gone.]

Feeling like an ass for going through the wrong channels to get what he needed, Marcus cringes. “Sorry. I should have cleared it with you first. Listen, I just needed to blow off some steam. I’m not like you. I wasn’t raised in this kind of world. Everyone is so _formal_ all the time. And they are all here to talk to you, never to me—which is fine, I totally get that it’s my job to be your voice. But I spend so much of my time talking for you… I started to feel like I was losing myself. I just needed to see some old friends. People who want to talk to _me_ , you know?”

A smile tugs at the side of the king’s lips as he eyes Marcus head to toe. Then he signs, [To be honest, I just got used to what it was like to have a friend in residence, always around. When you disappeared it suddenly felt like we weren’t as close as I thought.]

“Well, so long as we’re being honest, I really started to miss it around here. Even after only two days.”

Esca’s smile stretches across his entire face and moves his ears and Marcus decides it will be better to go to bed than to sit and stare at the happy grin all night. He stands, “Good night, sir.”

||||||||

With a flourish, Esca places his signature on the last of the documents before him, and Cottia gathers them back into a neat stack.

[Thank you, Cottia.]

[Sir;] She curtsies right in front of Marcus so he notices how attractive her figure is in today’s skirt. When she turns around, he pretends he has noticed nothing and gives her a polite smile as she leaves them to their tea.

Tea time with the king has become his absolute favorite part of the day. If they ever get around to a voice lesson, it is even better, but mostly they just talk. Marcus would have never guessed that he could give a rat’s behind about the intricate practice of politics, but the way Esca relates his day makes it fascinating.

It’s not just legal papers pushed from one end of the room to another. It’s _people_ , with drama and personality conflicts that have to be played against each other to get the desired result. It’s like chemistry with actual people-chemistry to mix together and get a miracle formula.

Grinning as he considers this analogy, Marcus drops two sugars into Esca’s cup and a long stream of milk into his own. When finally he glances up at the king, he is alarmed to find the man scowling at him. Smile faltering, Marcus blinks.

The tea pot is put right back where it had been, and he sits back, spine straight, nervously touching his tie. What has he done wrong? “Sir?”

The formality tightens the king’s jaw momentarily, but then he is smiling almost amiably. With a gesture at the door, he Signs, [she is pretty.]

Marcus nearly chokes on his tongue and Signs sheepishly, “You saw that. I—“ he cuts off and then sighs heavily. “I didn’t mean any disrespect to anyone. I hope she didn’t notice—do you think she noticed?”

[No, she saw nothing;] the king assures with short signs. Marcus is relieved, but there is still something off with the way Esca is acting. Marcus considers pretending nothing is wrong, but then with a lurch, he imagines this absurdity lasting for the rest of their lives. If they aren’t going to be _real_ friends, then he would rather live on crackers and water for the rest of his life after all.

“You don’t seem very happy with me right now,” Marcus Signs carefully. He doesn’t want to be out of line, but they are supposed to be friends. Heart pounding, he asks, “Is she off-limits?”

[Keep it professional in the palace and I don’t care what you do] Esca signs quickly without really looking at him.

Marcus isn’t sure what that answer really means. Is he trying to be a good friend and let Marcus have her or does he honestly not care? Or is it because a king can never really get involved with his staff in the first place, so it hardly matters what Esca feels?

Yes, of course that’s it. Marcus can’t let himself forget that a king _doesn’t_ date common people like her _or_ him. Maybe he _should_ go there with her…Maybe it’s mostly just frustration that has him so crazy about Esca right now. Some crush control—but it would be a little too much like having a beard… so he maybe won’t ask her out after all. Plus maintaining good terms with his life-long employer/best friend is a lot more important than blowing off steam with a heart shaped rear-end.

“She wouldn’t go out with me,” he speak-signs. Even though opening the topic will only lead to heart ache, Marcus knows another crush control method: keep Esca talking about the girl he likes. Self-preservation will eventually kick in and Marcus will stop pining.

[Sure she would] Esca Signs kindly. His expression speaks volumes, like he knows Cottia’s tastes and Marcus meets them exquisitely. While that makes him happy to think so, Marcus would rather high school not be repeated with him overshadowing his shy best friend all the time. Especially if that shy friend is the freaking King of England.

With a deep breath, Marcus just puts all his cards on the table. True friendship, right? “No. I don’t really date women that often. Men are easier,” he Signs confidently.

A smile spreads across the king’s face, and all at once everything is back to normal between them. Esca relaxes into the sofa, a twinkle in his eye. [Bisexual?]

Marcus guffaws and looks around as if anyone else might have seen the Sign, which just seemed way more wicked the way Esca had Signed it. He feels his face darken, and he coughs, Signs without speaking, [I hope that isn’t a problem?]

Esca shakes his head. [I should hope by now you know that it isn’t a problem.]

“Yeah, but...” Marcus’ voice fails him, but he Signs on, finding the words at the very end, [I mean I kind of hoped, obviously. But I was sure that if you really were]… “There would have been a scandal about it by now.”

The king’s smile stretches and he chuckles quietly. [Usually a scandal means there’s a scorned lover somewhere. I’ve never had a lover.]

Marcus raises his eyebrows and Esca shrugs, Signs the word again, [ _never_.]

And then Marcus chokes and forgets to Sign, repeating, “Never?”

Still smiling serenely, like he, as a grown man, is not admitting something most people would be embarrassed about, Esca just keeps eye contact.

“Then how—“

Laughing, the king cuts in with Sign, [I know what I want, trust me. There were many boys in school, and by now plenty of men, whom I’ve desired. I could have had any or all of them.]

“So _why_ didn’t you?” Marcus asks, putting great force behind the sign for _why_.

The young king is greatly amused, and Signs with less varied expression, a smile monopolizing his face. [Too messy. Causes scandal, like you said. No one wants a mess, or to be known as that gay-prince, that nancy-boy king. It is... _cleaner_ to be known as the deaf prince, the first hearing-impaired king in the history of England. I would much rather have that identifier, and keep my private life private, don’t you agree?]

“Yeah, I guess,” Marcus speak-signs, “And you’ve done very well so far. Honestly, I still can’t believe that you’ve never...” he trails off in a nervous laugh.

[Oh really?] Esca’s lips smack open with a breathy laugh. [Is it so hard to imagine?]

“Well, you are the _king_! And a prince before that, and—” [pretty... _damn_ good looking the whole time…] Marcus finishes the thought in Sign, but only manages it by letting himself not look into the royal face.

The king glances away shyly, and Marcus feels sweaty in the palms, and shaky in the fingers, though that is mostly just his imagination. Clearing his throat, he speak-signs, “if you don’t mind my saying so, sir.”

[No,] Esca Signs gently without looking at Marcus. [I don’t mind.]

Blushing profusely over his own nerve, Marcus fiddles with his tie and casts about the room for something to change the subject. He lands on the Hadrian’s Wall of sugar-cubes. With one finger, he prods the crooked bricks straight. Before he can make a comment on the topic, the king sighs and his hands flash with words that Marcus’ green eyes track keenly.

[Truthfully, that’s all just a lie. Really I’ve been waiting for someone special. Someone who hears me.]

The sugar cubes teeter and scatter. Neither of them notice.

 _Right._ Marcus clears his throat, mind whirring. _Wow. He means me_. Marcus is light headed like he’s been punched. His heart suddenly thuds in his throat, and his signs _are_ shaky now. “That can still be really messy.”

Esca nods, catching his eye. [The important thing is for it to be worth the mess.]

||||||||||

Marcus’ heart pounds erratically when the king’s tongue enters his mouth. Minutes ago (hours after that revealing conversation at tea) Marcus had finally found the nerve to kiss Esca. He had done it in a bold move, taking his first chance before he chickened out. The moment the door had clicked shut on the last of the day’s business, Marcus had strode over to where Esca rummaged on the desk, placed his hand lightly on his shoulder, leaned and kissed those lips the moment Esca had turned his head.

For the king, the kiss had been a most erotic surprise. How devious of Marcus to sneak up like that, surprise him with a kiss before Esca had even known they were alone. So utterly thrilling, breathtaking. Heart racing.

After their moment at tea had led to nothing but bashful conversation about other things, Esca had accepted (regrettably) that Marcus would need time to warm to the idea of dating a king, to maintaining such a strictly private love life….while it had been disheartening to a degree, there was still a positive side in that Marcus wanted to _and would_ , eventually…

He had not counted on him warming so quickly.

Esca’s head is now spinning and he does not know if this is reality or fantasy but it does not matter. It is delicious. Marcus’ hard body and his soft mouth and those hands gripping his waist and hips and ass—it’s better than a dream. As Esca sinks out of his head and into his body, sound vibrates softly in his throat and Marcus breaks the kiss with a breathless little laugh. When Esca opens his eyes, he sees that Marcus is ready to say something. He lip-reads,

“You’re a good kisser.”

Blushing, Esca considers signing a thank you but doesn’t want to surrender his hold of Marcus to do it. Marcus’ ribs vibrate with a giggle and then they kiss again. Esca hasn’t been kissed like this in a very long time. Not since before his brother died and made him too important a person to dick around with. Excitement shoots through him now, as he realizes that he has someone to give him hickeys again.

Marcus lets go of him, straightening his own jacket and smiling, before signing, [See you in the morning.]

Heart a flutter, Esca returns [See you.]

|||||

Marcus used to tell time by the school year and watched years pass by measuring the height of his students as they out grew him. Now, as the king’s interpreter, he tells time through the movements of parliament and world leaders. By the end of his first winter in the position, he has met presidents and prime ministers and _actual dictators_ and queens and other kings and is allowed to call most of them by their first names. He has picked up greetings and well wishes in other languages as a courtesy the way everyone else in the palace is slowly picking up Sign. Sometimes he steps back from his life, takes a look at it, and feels like a total bad ass.

But he never feels better than when it is just him and Esca, no titles, no image to maintain, when he has Esca laughing out loud in his arms, giving him such sweet kisses that Marcus feels like he could drown in them. That’s all they’ve done is kiss and cuddle. Marcus dare not go any further, even though he can sense that he has the green light from Esca. Something holds Marcus back from surrendering to the urges. It’s like he keeps expecting to wake up one morning to find out that enough people in the world can Sign and his services are no longer needed, or that a better interpreter has applied for the job and Esca is forced to say yes to maintain good image. Because that’s just it. It all comes down to the royal family’s image.

Marcus is afraid of what might happen if he messes it up for Esca—Esca, who has never had a lover and can’t be expected to navigate something like that very wisely. When Marcus dwells on it, he really really wishes some bonehead had fucked Esca in school and broke his heart so that the thing Marcus held with now wasn’t so fragile and precious. He wished Esca was hardened, so that they could weather this coming storm together.

Because Marcus can see that their relationship will bring on one hell of a storm.

It first occurs to him when Esca’s mother catches them kissing in the tea room. Her reaction is not pleasant—she frowns but says nothing, which always leaves Marcus with the impression that he can not be more disappointing. But after that, Esca is sure to keep their kissing sessions more private—relocating them to his personal quarters where no one, not even his mother, can enter without knocking—and they find a groove in which to live and work together so closely. Outside of the king’s rooms, they are Sir and Aquila, but behind closed doors, they are just Esca and Marcus. Usually.

Today, though, something has gotten into Esca. No matter how many times Marcus calls him Sir, the king keeps shooting him these heated little looks and winks, even puts a hand on Marcus’ knee beneath the table. When the important meetings are at last over with, and they have a few minutes alone, Marcus narrows his eyes at his boyfriend but doesn’t have a chance to speak-sign anything because Esca captures him in a kiss that takes his breath and wipes his mind clean of everything but the one thing he has been trying not to think of all day: the night before.

Slightly drunk from booze gifted from the Russians, their good night kiss had somehow become a groping session that had only ended because Marcus’ hand on Esca’s hard cock had prompted an unshaped, raw little vowel out of Esca’s throat, and the rare sound had snapped Marcus back to his senses. He had run away, spent the night in a tumult of confusion and frustration that had only ceased when his will had broken and he had thrust into his fist, panting the king’s name until he spilled.

It seems Esca’s night had been similarly counter-productive to their intention of going slow. The way he consumes Marcus’ mouth now is hungry and possessive, and there is no mistaking the ridge forming in those tailored pants. Struggling to maintain his head, Marcus breaks the kiss, caresses Esca’s face to get him to open his eyes,

“Esca…you’ve got to be sure. Am I worth it?”

He nods vigorously. Marcus pulls his head back to deny a kiss, steps back for space to sign. “Sir, please.”

[Marcus.] He drops his head, breathing heavily. [I’ve never wanted anything more. Ever.]

|||||

It is after-hours. They are in the king’s bedroom. Esca’s hands fumble as he undresses the man kissing him so fervently. Marcus’ hands open his clothes. Esca’s skin comes to life, tingling and burning and changing colors. His breaths pump his bony chest like bellows. His fingers shake. When Marcus’ hot mouth teases his nipples, he pants and falls boneless against the sheets. When a slick finger prods that place inside, Esca gasps and clutches so tightly to Marcus he leaves white marks in the man’s flushed skin.

Everything is hot and wet, a rushing blur of rediscovered sensations, so different than a solo go at it, _so real_. Crying and coming, Esca knows his life to be forever changed, wrapped around someone else. Marcus.

|||||

 [I don’t like movies like this.]

“Action movies? Why not?”

[Everything is happening too fast for caption, people speaking all at once.]

“What’s your favorite film?”

[Roman Holiday.]

“Of course it is. I should have guessed.

[What’s yours?]

Marcus thinks about it for a minute, his lips puckered to one side. Then he shrugs.

Esca smiles, and leans in for a kiss. They are sitting in the royal bed, facing one another, legs wrapped around each other with space between for Sign. The TV is playing but they are hardly watching it; it is a mere pretense so they could stay close. They have not left the bed all morning, and Esca never wants to. He’s almost afraid of what will happen when they return to the civilization outside his rooms. He isn’t sure if he can carry on as if none of this has happened. What if all they see is some love-struck git and he becomes the butt of every minority joke for the rest of history, that gay deaf king fucking his interpreter?

So, he sinks into the kiss instead, far away from such troubles. Marcus’ lips and tongue are playful, and delectable. Esca likes it when the man hums into his mouth; the low vibrations make a subtle but electric difference between a regular kiss and a hungry one. He breaks their lips apart to read Marcus’ expression and glean what to do next.

It’s really the interpreter’s turn to bottom, but Esca sort of hopes he’ll want to skip, skip back to Marcus filling him up instead, smothering out the whole rest of everything until it’s just the two of them in a world of taste and sensation...

There is a small smile on Marcus’ crooked mouth, and Esca rakes his fingers through the man’s horrendous bed head, Signing with one hand, [What are you thinking about?]

Marcus inflates with a deep breath and shakes his head like he can shake off the dreamy grin, but he can’t. He signs one word, [Earlier]

Esca knows instantly that Marcus is speaking of half an hour ago, when they were making love. He looks away, suddenly shy, and he can feel his skin changing colors. Marcus speak-signs with candor, “You spoke. Your _voice_ ; I can’t get it out of my head. I want to hear it again.”

The entire moment is a blur to Esca. He can only remember Marcus’ lips attached reverently to his throat as the man’s pumping hips pushed pleasure through Esca’s entire body. Esca had realized with some panic that he was making sounds, but upon realizing that those sounds were okay, that those sounds were what _drove_ Marcus to suck on his skin with such adulation, he had gone for the shock factor.

Scrambling to recall the dusty lessons of letter-sounds and mimicking the shape of mouths when they speak, he made an attempt at Marcus’ name, soft and timid into the ear at his lips. The reaction had been about as he had hoped, and it had spurred him into using some of the simple, short words he knew he could pronounce. _Yes_. _Please_. _Now_.

In retrospect, Esca is fairly certain he had made a fool of himself, either with pronunciation or volume or something else he cannot even think to consider, like accent. He does not really want to talk about this and looks away from Marcus, to hide.

But Marcus pulls him in, speaks the first word against his jaw as he Signs it into Esca’s chest, getting his attention. “Don’t. Look at me. It was wonderful. Thank you. I just wish I could do something like that for you.”

Snorting, the king Signs, [That will be easy. Just do something you would never ever do in front of someone. The most embarrassing thing that you can think of.]

Marcus laughs and shakes his head. “It’s not that bad, I promise. You have a very sexy voice.”

Blushing, Esca rolls his eyes, and pretends like that is something he already knew. [Then you see why I don’t use it on my mother.]

Marcus throws his whole body backwards as his laugh wrenches out of him. Esca joins in, pleased to have turned this awkward conversation into a laughing matter. Maybe now he can remember it with some dignity. He crawls over Marcus and they lose a few minutes in touch and tickles. Then Esca can see that Marcus is thinking about it again.

He sighs as hard as he can to convey his irritation. Marcus looks sheepish. “I know. I’m sorry. But...If I do something that makes me really, really vulnerable, then will you return the favor?”

The temptation is too much to resist. Esca gives a tentative nod.

Marcus gets out of the bed. Alarmed, Esca needs to throw a pillow to get Marcus’ attention before he Signs,

[Where the hell are you going?]

“Nowhere,” Marcus Signs and laughs. He retrieves the laptop from the desk and powers it up. Esca reads in Marcus’s entire body the word _nervous_ and that alone is enough to let him know that what Marcus has planned scares him as much as speaking scares Esca. The monarch relaxes into his pillows, curious.

Marcus navigates the web to a music video, then puts the machine aside, and stands up, plucking anxiously at his t-shirt and shaking his shoulders loose before speak-signing,

“This is something I only do in the shower, and I _definitely_ would not do this song for anyone else because it is _way_ too embarrassing so...be honored, okay? ... Anyway, this is, like, my jam. And if you could hear it, you’d know it isn’t really a jam a grown man should have. You know who Miley Cyrus is, don’t you? Hannah Montana?”

Esca nods.

“My love for Hannah Montana is my secret shame. This is called Party in the USA... and that’s a stupid ad playing, give it a sec.” Marcus taps the track pad and then backs up into open space again, “Okay...”

Esca rocks forward onto his elbows to hold his glowing face in his hands, because he knows what Marcus is about to do, and his heart has grown wings with anticipation. Only once before has he seen Marcus Sign a song.

Years ago, Marcus had done it rather casually while sitting down, surrounded by his kids. He had not finished the song; had blushed and left it to someone else with hearing when he had garnered too much attention, including the prince’s. They had not been actual acquaintances yet, and as the guest of honor, Esca had had obligations to others at the time.

But since then, during his rare thoughts on music, Esca’s brain has supplied the memory of Marcus’ hands pulsing, waving and shaking independently, displaying several layers of music between the lyrics. Esca counts it as the only real instance of music in his life. Somehow, something in those thirty seconds of hand motions, rhythm, and facial expression, had helped Esca to almost _understand_ the true concept of music.

Later, he learned that it had been a song called Fireflies by a band named Owl City, audible from an event taking place across the hall. “Techno stuff” his friend had dismissed the whole notion with an eye roll to signify Esca’s good luck in being deaf.

Now, Marcus is rocking on the spot to a beat that Esca can see is spontaneous and energetic from the party scene on the computer screen, and he wonders if it is “techno” too or what.

For the next four minutes, Marcus treats him to the silliest, most endearing rendition of a party song ever. Silly only because Marcus does his job and encapsulates the energy and emotion of a teenaged pop star as easily as he captures the voice of a king, endearing because Esca knows Marcus won’t do this for anyone else.

Blushing (and dying on the inside, because he feels other people’s embarrassment when they don’t) Esca fidgets, a ball of nervous energy, as Marcus un-wounds and begins to have fun. From the interpretation, Esca gathers it’s about a girl’s insecurities in a new town, and how that all goes away when her favorite song comes on the radio. He wonders if it resonates with the man’s memories of moving here to England, or if it even goes that deep. Esca has a feeling that Marcus has as many ‘jams’ as favorite movies, and only picked this one for a laugh.

 _This is Marcus_ , Esca thinks adoringly. Walking sex, now sing-signing and dancing to a song for a king, not a care in the world. Esca claps and sways to the beat he sees, and when Marcus puckers his lips and “moves his hips like yeah” in the chorus, Esca rolls onto his back, laughing, and watches upside down.

|||

When the song ends, Marcus feels like a live wire. This endeavor could have gone either way in the beginning, but the moment Marcus saw that he had successfully pulled the king into the song, making him _dance_ , well, from there it was pure fire and light and being a rock star.

Esca is hanging his head and shoulders off the bed where his sporadic little moments of reflective dance have wriggled him over the edge.

Bounding back onto the bed, Marcus yanks his lover into the center of the mattress by the hips, and the king lets out a shout of surprise and merriment that thrills Marcus to his toes.

“There,” he breathes, settling over Esca and tracing his royal face. His heart is racing, and he’s nearly out of breath for no real reason. God, he’s never had the nerve to do something like that, a whole song, as real as he can interpret, _in front of someone_. But he knows he’ll do it again and again if it lights this man up for him like this. He’s not thinking of why he did it anymore, until Esca makes good on their deal.

“ _Thank-oo, Mah-cus_ ,” he speaks softly, clears his throat, bashfully holds eye contact.

The wind is knocked out of the teacher and the precious sound robs him of strength. Marcus falls onto his back, and rolls Esca on top of him to keep him close. He’s shaking. “Say it again.”

“ _No_ ,” Esca says, but he is smiling.

“Please?” Marcus whispers, playing along, because it it’s not just his name he likes to hear. It’s anything.

“ _No_.” Esca laughs the word. Their bodies are aligned, noses brushing. Marcus’ wrists are pinned above his head, so he pouts.

“Pretty please?”

Thin shoulders bob in royal pajamas. “ _Why_?”

Marcus frees himself, pulls their mouths together and rolls on top to make it a very good kiss. It’s the right answer, because when the kiss breaks, the king pants and writhes, “oh, please, m- _moor_ , Mahr-cus, moor!”

Marcus’ heart sweeps down to his stomach, surfing the hot wave of desire there. His hips flex into the king’s and it feels so good he lets out a gasp of his own. Esca clutches him, and the words spill out of Marcus’ lips between kisses, “yeah, oh, I, I love you so much.”

He has actually said it before already in their love making—so many fantasies had converged when their bodies did, Marcus had fallen out of time, and forgot that it was too soon. But (luckily) both times he had forgotten himself, Esca had had his eyes closed in ecstasy, and it had been lost in the pillows and the kisses, but this time the king sees it. Marcus tries to swallow his insolent tongue but then Esca clutches at him, and nods, and makes the sign back.

| |||

 _Being king is bigger than I love you_. Esca starts awake as if something has socked him to the chest. He flops onto his back because it is hard to breathe, his chest is tight. There is sweat in his hair. Then Marcus is there, blurry-eyed but worried looking and feeling of his forehead and talking—Esca sees his lips moving, but Esca’s heart is racing and he can’t read the words because all he can think about is the last time he spoke to his father and part of the letter Albert had written.

He pulls away from Marcus and gets out of the bed to cool. Bigger than I love you? How can anything be bigger than that? When Albert had written it, Esca had only known love from movies and books, and trusted that his heir-apparent brother spoke of a proper mathematical equation. X is greater than Y. When Father had repeated it, it merely became another thing in a long list of traditional advice given from one king to the next.

So is it true?

How can being a figure head be bigger than the way Marcus brings him to life inside, opens his world emphatically to a whole other person? That is why he does not want to leave this room—he can’t be certain, after discovering a man like Marcus, if anyone else in the entire world is real anymore.

Marcus turns him around, touching his face, more words—now Signs—that Esca knows but can’t stitch together into any other thought but one. This or duty? This or duty? This or duty? _King is bigger than I love you._

He realizes Marcus is shouting as the world tilts, and he blacks out.

[]

Marcus has chewed his thumbnail to the quick, but he can’t stop. He paces in front of Esca’s mother, doing his utmost to ignore her piercing gaze, her last question—“And just what were you doing in his room this morning?”—not dignified with an answer. He and Esca are both half dressed; the answer is as clear as day.

Thankfully, she is wearing her robe too, so for any new comers on the scene, it only looks like everyone was dragged out of their own bed. He can tell by the set of her chin that she will keep their secret for them, and the doctor no doubt will do as he is told.

When the physician is finished examining the king, the aged man says something about panic attacks and what to do if it happens again, and then he is finally gone and Esca’s mother handles the worried staff and Marcus slips discreetly into an adjacent room and uses a backdoor.

Esca is sitting on the bed, fully dressed and adjusting his cuff links. When he sees Marcus, he blushes and looks away, and then Signs,

[I guess you’ve never seen someone have a panic attack before.]

“No,” Marcus shakes his head.

[I’m sorry if it frightened you.]

“I didn’t know what was happening. I thought maybe an asthma attack.”

[I guess our secret is out?]

“You’re mother definitely knows. I’m not sure about anybody else.”

[Are you okay with people knowing?]

“Are you?”

[I asked you, Marcus.]

“Look. I’ve been out since I was about nineteen years old. Everybody in my old life knew that about me. It’s not like I wanted to hide it when I came here. It just didn’t make the transition with everything else. Is it really going to be any different if they know the truth? We’re all so formal around here. It’s still not going to be talked about.”

Esca nods. Marcus takes a seat on the bed next to him, shoulder bumping him before he puts the arm around Esca and squeezes. “What about you?”

[I’m okay.]

“What’s on your mind?”

[Do you really love me?]

“What? Yeah! Of course I do. Esca, I love you,” he Signs the combination with a dopey smile on his face. Then he kisses his temple, “Was that what you panicked over? You thought I was lying to you?”

[I know it wasn’t a lie... But _how much_ do you love me, Marcus?]

Suspicion narrows Marcus’ eyes. “What are you getting at?”

[I want to come out to the world. I want to tell them how much I love you but only if you really truly mean it when you say it to me.]

“Esca,” he drops his arms as if tired. Then he Signs carefully, “I really truly mean it. I’ve probably loved you for years now. But…what about all that mess you were talking about? It would be amazing if you did that for us but—you know how ugly it could get too.”

[I know. But there is no clean way to do it and I _need_ to do this. When King Cunoval--] Esca’s hands shake as he signs his father’s name [last spoke to me, do you know what he said?]

“I can’t even imagine all that he would have said in a time like that.”

[He had a lot to say, but one thing was something Albert had already written in the note… He told me that being king is bigger than I love you, which means that I can’t be the king God intends me to be without finding the love he made for me. I can’t deny it just because it’d be easier. I need it, like a stepping stone to the next level. My brother called it a ladder to the heavens. Albert thought he was a poet.] Esca rolls his eyes affectionately.

Marcus chuckles wetly, shaking slightly because this can’t be happening. It’s too wonderful.

Esca, smiling bashfully, says haltingly, “Marhcus, I theenkh oo wur made forh me.”

“Esca, I _know_ you were made for me.”

[Then you will marry me?]

Marcus looks down for a minute, trying to remember how to breathe, and then he nods.

[]

“Mum.”

Elizabeth blossoms at the sound of her son’s voice. She gasps and leans toward Esca, but one warning look from Marcus reminds her not to make a big deal out of this. She clears her throat, grinning widely, “Yes, darling?”

“I have sometheng to tell yoo.” He does superbly, just like they practiced. Marcus loves this part, and is honored to witness it—their first spoken conversation.

She puts the tea cup to her lips to hide her smile, but remembers to lower it to show him her lips, “I’m listening.”

Esca looks at Marcus and takes his hand on top of the table. “Marhcus and I are in love.”

Her jaw drops a little and her eyes flash but she keeps smiling warmly, still under the spell of that voice and the way it makes it feel like—finally, after all these years—he is actually letting her in. And the subject matter magnifies that tenfold. She has _known_ , of course, for some time now that her son would not be bothered with duchesses and the like. But she had not quite envisioned _this_. She sets the tea cup aside and takes a deep breath. “Is that so?”

Esca nods. Marcus can’t stop smiling either and feels his cheeks darken for it. They are having tea, and Esca has sat next to Marcus in order to touch his knee. The weight of the king’s hand is an anchor and a reminder that Marcus has not dreamt the whole thing up. The king of England just proposed to him and he just said _yes_.

Holy. Shit.

Elizabeth’s eyes begin to bore into Marcus, demanding greater detail, and Marcus has had far less practice resisting this silent command and so caves. He clears his throat. “We want to get married.”

Esca glances at Marcus, aware that something was spoken and he missed it. Marcus gives him a reassuring smile and a squeeze to the fingers. “He asked me and I’ve agreed, if it’s at all possible.”

She blinks slowly, and takes her time to answer. Both Marcus and Esca are grinning because the shock factor is working like a charm. She is too pleased by Esca’s new speech to deny him anything right now. Putting aside the negatives that she usually harps on expertly, she draws a deep breath of contentment. Her sign language is energetic. “That’s wonderful, darling. Absolutely wonderful!”

[You won’t think so when I’ve got the whole nation in an uproar about heirs.]

Though he has reverted back to his usual silence, his mother is still on the edge of her seat with happiness. She bats her hands in the most nonchalant attitude Marcus has ever seen in her. “There are solutions to that!”

He is somewhat surprised and spits into his cup with laughter that Esca shares. “Mum,” the king says before again Signing the unsafe words he has not practiced [We expected _you_ of all people to have a panic attack over the consequences of this.]

“Wasn’t it you who had the panic attack already?” she asks, revealing the great mystery of where Esca’s sass originated. Esca smacks his lips and laughs. She winks and is sympathetic to his earlier plight with a touch of his hand and a pouted, “Darling. Fear nothing. It will all work out in the end.”

“Not going to be easy though,” Marcus speak-signs, “Media’s going to have a field day. _Tons_ of questions and interviews and people with problems with every part of it—it can get really messy.”

She eyes Marcus analytically and then does the same to Esca. “And yet you two are still doing this?”

Esca and Marcus look at one another with grins. Esca kisses him lightly on the lips. Marcus forces his lungs to breathe so that he can answer. “Yes, ma’am. It’s so worth it.”

“I suppose if I had asked myself sooner why he fought so hard for you, I could have predicted this.”

“We’re both too practical to believe stuff like that until it is happening,” Marcus says to her as he Signs for Esca. “Never in a million years would I have ever thought this could happen to me. I thought I’d have to watch him marry someone else and never even notice me.”

“Hm. Me too,” Esca says softly, eyes falling to the sugar cubes he habitually plays with. Marcus and Elizabeth trade quick, melting looks and then regroup and try to pretend like Esca’s speech is perfectly ordinary.

The rest of the day is swallowed by an emergency appointment with PR and lawyers and the private investigator that had snooped once already into Marcus’ life.

“First of all,” the PR agent is a regal man with white hair and peppery beard, his words spoken slowly and clearly by nature, making lip reading easy enough that he needn’t embarrass himself with an attempt at BSL. “Is there anything in your past that could harm us?”

He is speaking directly to Marcus, who sighs and nods at once. “My father is in prison. As I’m sure you know,” he adds to the PI and Elizabeth, who nods.

“Hmm, back in America?”

Marcus nods.

“And what were his charges?”

Marcus glances at the PI, granting the man permission to explain his findings. “Domestic violence. Beat his pregnant wife so hard she lost her hearing.”

“Then we have the public sympathy on our side at least. Have you any contact with him these days?”

“None at all.”

“Good. And your mother is in America?”

“Her grave is, yes.”

“Natural causes?”

“Over dose. My life is not pretty. That’s what I keep trying to explain. This is going to get worse before it gets better.”

“Now, now, not so fast. No one is expecting you to be an ivy-league blueblood with an inheritance. Don’t forget that you are already a celebrity, Marcus. All of England knows that you are common and American-born. If played correctly, your unsavory origins could be inspirational. You have, after all, come this far despite it all, have you not?”

“I guess.”

“It is unpleasant to have the past dug up, but yours is not something that can ruin you when your life has been shaped by it. So long as you have never been married or involved with a married person, or have any children we don’t know about, or had any incident with the children you taught, then you are in the clear. It is _loose ends_ that I am interested in, Mr. Aquila. Dirt that can bury you. Nothing like that?”

“No.”

“And you are certain of this? We must know it all now. It is never a good idea to let skeletons spring out of the closet without a plan. If there is anything—“

“No, there isn’t!” Marcus insists, laughing because the idea of his life being at all that interesting before coming to the palace is absurd. “The worst thing I ever did was steal my best friend’s girlfriend in high school and popped her cherry on prom night. He never talked to me again and I came out a year later. Seriously, as far as I know, that’s it.”

“How many women have you dated?”

“Why is that relevant?”

“People are going to ask. Get used to answering the question.”

“I’m bisexual. I’ve dated as many women as I have men. Just whatever felt right, and now the only thing that feels right is Esca.”

“The last thing the crown needs is for the first gay marriage to end with a mistress exposing herself to BBC for a few hundred thousand dollars. Or a mister for that matter.”

Esca’s lips smack apart and he starts rearranging things on his desk as Marcus laughs and speak signs, “Not going to happen. I date both but not at the same time. Jesus.”

“Again, just get used to it. You can’t challenge tradition without some hard battles.”

“You’re telling me.”

Esca finds a pen and scratches something on a notepad, grey eyes not on the page, but tracking his mother’s Sign as she begins telling the PR rep her initial thoughts and feelings of this development.

Marcus inhales as deeply as he can and pulls Esca closer to make himself feel better. The brush of Esca’s elbow against his ribs and the kingly scent of his hair and clothes sooth him instantly. He squeezes his hand and smiles. Esca smiles back and winks as he slips Marcus the notepad.

**You are my first and last mister**

A flutter threatens to make Marcus fall out of the chair. He separates the page from the notepad, folds it neatly, and tucks it safely in his breast pocket, over his heart. He pats the place as he meets Esca’s eye and mouths _I love you too_ before placing a finger over his lips to indicate that he had not said it aloud.

He sees Esca bite his lip and fumble with the pen as he attempts to concentrate on the conversation being had. But like Marcus, he is hopelessly lost and uninterested fundamentally—strange considering the entire meeting is about them and this wonderful new fire between them, but they have reached that line where they can do nothing but hold on tight and never ever let go and trust that it will all work out in the end. Their hands in this are done for today; let trained officials do what they do best, and get on with it.

Marcus moves for his own pen and writes,

**Keeping it. For divorce court. Never know with kings.**

Esca reads this, pulls a face, and Signs, [Wanker] laughing as if the PR rep is not in the middle of detailing his game plan. The man stutters at the king’s interrupting Sign, perhaps unfamiliar with the word (though how could he not guess it?) The dowager smacks her lips and hisses, “ _Boys_!”

“Sorry,” Marcus chirps, jumping guiltily. He shoots Esca a mean look. Esca chortles with his tongue between his teeth, then gives the rep his full attention with an apology. As the gentleman begins again, Marcus cannot help but notice Esca’s oh so casual return to the pen and paper, and after his mother starts speak-signing, he begins writing again.

**If you ever leave me, I might just order your execution. You really do never know with kings.**

_Ouch, ok, ok, got it_ Marcus mouths behind the dowager’s head as she paces between the desk and her sofa _._ From the corner of his eye, Marcus sees the rep watching them, his beard twitching with amused fondness.

[Excuse us, please. Carry on.] Esca says, dragging Marcus out of the room through a secret passage. Just before the hidden door closes fully--as Esca pushes him bodily against the wall for a hard, smiling kiss--Marcus hears the expert chuckling like an onlooker at the world’s most exciting tennis match. “This should be interesting.”

|||||THE END||||


End file.
